Photo by Joolsthegreat at Pixabay
I love writing about things that bug or just captivate me. Things that have jumped out at me for some reason. It’s sort of a way of working things out; solving problems. I literally approach it as assigning myself to write on topics I want or need to learn about. Imagining I’m going to submit my work to a magazine or newspaper. Creating an article I’d like to read but no one else has written yet.
It’s better than journaling. Something about journaling turns me off; I guess the intense personal vibe the term suggests. Like no one besides the author should read a journal. And really, no one besides the author should want to read it. Journaling, to me, sounds childish; frivolous.
Of course it doesn’t have to be that way. Many famous artists kept journals, sometimes calling them notebooks or schedules. Diaries or letters. And they often turn out to be vitally important to understanding the person who wrote them.
But I don’t really want that from my writing/blogging. I just want to dissect ideas and see what they’re made of. Do the research so I can argue with myself about the merit, relevance, even the entertainment value of a topic.
Literally millions of people are doing the same type of thing on the web every day. Some are making good money at it. I know there are certain algorithms one can follow to improve one’s marketability, following, search results or whatever you call it when your article gets prioritized by a search engine.
But I don’t like any of that. Not if it means I have to write only about topics that attract clicks. Because those topics are all the same: politics, self-improvement (which is fine, sometimes), news, passive income, nailing a job interview, cooking, crafting, Tik Tokking. Celebrities.
Yeah, I click on links to things like that sometimes. But after a few minutes the content becomes tiresome. It loses its attraction, like when I dive into a second slice of cake and realize half way through I don’t even want to finish it.
There’s a word for my philosophy: dilettantism. Usually called amateurism.
That’s right: I’m dabbling. Sue me! I’m not working very hard to improve my SEO (although I do follow the suggestions WordPress offers for readability and headline creation.) But I am diligently analyzing ideas that interest me, vex me, or even frighten me. Because doing so counts as creation. There are thoughts and concerns in my mind that must come out. When I write about them, I’ve made something. I’ve fulfilled that need to work, build, and design. And that work might only be cathartic for the moment and only for me. Maybe it dead ends. Or perhaps I’ll come back to it someday. Rework it. Make something more from it.
But isn’t that the way it should be? How else does one figure out what’s important without sticking a toe into the water to find out? Dilettantism is usually disdained. Sometimes laughed at. But I look at it as another step upward. I may not know where I’m going all the time, but I’m moving.
I love when I stumble across someone’s blog who is doing essentially the same thing: writing about what they love or deeply care about because that’s what they want to write about (a couple of my faves: here and here.) To me, that’s what’s (still) cool about the internet—there’s plenty of room for everyone who wants to post their thoughts. Even if those posts never get any clicks (or even if they do.) Because writing posts just because you want to is a great way to live. Just like cooking, crocheting, archery, or horseback riding are wonderful ways to connect with the joyful side of your soul, if that’s what you’re into.
So nobody (or very few) will read what I write in my blog. That’s okay. I’m not creating content for search engines or likes or followers. Language bots or ghost writers can do that. Who needs content that exists only to be found?
If no one wants to read what I write about philosophy, dogs, work, goals, fitness, or whatever I’m into right now, that’s cool. I won’t pay any bills with that attitude but I’ll earn a lot of respect.
It’s okay if it’s only from myself.